


vertigo

by sheelia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Future, M/M, Office, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheelia/pseuds/sheelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama’s familiar with falling. Falling from grace, for example. But with Oikawa it’s a different kind of falling, the kind where he does it over and over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vertigo

**Author's Note:**

> hmm. do i know what i'm doing with this? nope. technically it's not day 4 of settersweek anymore. i hope it's ok if i'm 30 minutes late to the party. i used to write like this a long time ago. alternate paragraphs are in present time. the other half of the alternate happens sometime later into the future. lol. this was initially written as iwaoi but then i changed my mind in the middle of the process, which kinda explains why this took so long. and also because i'm coughing my lungs out. thank you school for being so germy.

Sometimes Oikawa presses his body against the cool metal railing on the balcony of his office building. Looking down from the twenty-eighth floor, he wonders what it would be like to fall. Not that he's feeling suicidal, of course. Instead, it is more like a what if. What would it feel like to punch someone? Or what about stealing something from the convenience store?

He doesn't do those things, obviously. He knows what’s right and wrong.

The people on the ground floor look like ballpoint pens, all dressed in black and white and walking ramrod straight across the intersection. All it would take to fall is the swing of his leg over the ledge and a leap of faith. And all it takes to stop it is the sheer force of his willpower alone.

That, in itself, makes him feel powerful.

\--

Kageyama shows up all unannounced on a bleary Monday morning, awkwardly standing at the entrance of Oikawa’s workplace in slacks that are too long for him. They bunch up around his ankles and make him look like a kid in his father’s suit. Oikawa’s technically been hearing about the new employee the entire of last week, but that doesn’t count.

Here Tobio was, idly shifting his weight from one foot to another as he inspected the fake orchids on the reception counter. Kageyama Tobio: the human embodiment of everything Oikawa’s tried so hard to push away, a bad taste that lingers on the tip of Oikawa’s tongue.

“I didn’t know you worked here, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama’s voice catches Oikawa by surprise, rough around the edges in a way that came with age. The papers in Oikawa’s arm dips under its own weight, and for some reason Oikawa feels defeated.

“I’ll see you around, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa replies, glancing at his watch to show that he has important things to do. He quickly shuffles back to his cubicle and drops the stack of documents on the table. A pen falls off his desk, and he makes a long groan as he bends over to pick it up.

Perhaps it’s time to move on.

\--

In the back of the closet Kageyama finds Oikawa’s old volleyball jacket. The tip of the plastic zipper is chipped and the cloth smells like piss from years of disuse.

“Are you done perusing through my shit, you little creeper?” Oikawa mocks all the way from the other side of the room, still wrapped under the layers of his blanket cocoon. Outside, the sky is grey and cloudless. The windows are shut closed because it’s cold. Inside, the air is warm and thick with anticipation.

Kageyama continues shuffling the hangers to the side as he examines everything Oikawa owns, like he’s flipping through a magazine. _Impeccable taste_ , Kageyama mutters, not sure to whom, but then he opens Oikawa’s drawers and comes face to face with every regrettable sartorial decision in his life.

Oikawa flips over and props his body up on the bed with his elbows, eyes tracing the sharp lines on Kageyama’s back.

\--

It should have occurred to him that Kageyama was going to acquire the cubicle adjacent to his. He was there at his ex-colleague’s retirement party two weeks ago, standing next to the snack table in the conference room in his slacks, holding chicken nuggets in his hands. He just never pictured being this close to Tobio again.

The wall that separates them is opaque except for the small stripe of clear plastic running across the top edge. He’s not sure why that’s there, since the wall between them isn’t that short in the first place, and all he needs to do is stretch slightly to see over it. Occasionally, he looks over to see what Kageyama’s doing out of curiosity. Most of the time he’s doing actual work, like typing in numbers into an Excel sheet. But Tobio’s always been a mindless idiot, so it doesn’t surprise him when he sees him play with the color swatch on Excel for fifteen minutes as he decides on the best color to shade his cells.

He doesn’t talk much to Kageyama, not because he doesn’t want to but because he has nothing substantial to say. Sometimes Kageyama speaks over the little divide as he talks about something mundane like the cold weather.

It doesn’t really go much further than that.

\--

The clouds are opaque like slabs of marble and they are backlit by the glow of the moon. Oikawa captures Kageyama’s lips slowly, his hand slipping around the back of Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama’s hands are shaking and he pulls away to heave heavily through his mouth. The skin on the back of his neck is warm, but when Kageyama accidentally brushes his cold and clammy hands on Oikawa’s skin he jerks back in reaction, suddenly overwhelmingly self-aware. He forcefully rubs his palms on his pants.

“Did I do something wrong? I mean-” Oikawa asks, concerned, his eyes catching the misty look in Kageyama’s eyes. His gaze falls down to Kageyama’s hands on his lap, the sleeves of his taupe knit sweater over his knuckles. “Are you okay?”

Kageyama breathes, and when it looks like he’s calmed down he replies in a measured tone, consciously willing his voice not to give way, “I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time.”

Oikawa shifts a little on the bed, bending his knee to move his foot under him as he closes in on Kageyama again. This time it is softer, an apology for everything since the beginning of time. When he prys open his lips to ask for forgiveness Kageyama responds in earnest. They stay like this in silence, because even the quiet speaks volumes.

\--

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama is leaning over the wall between their cubicles, his hands grasping the ledge in a way that reminds him of children. “I’m not really sure how to do this.”

This, Oikawa had been expecting. Kageyama’s been staring at the same spreadsheet for 45 minutes.

Oikawa shuffles out and jogs around the corner to reach Kageyama’s cubicle. Kageyama’s always been organized, his desk absolutely free from clutter and his coffee cups all washed and lined up along the side. He notes the Karasuno Volleyball Club photo hanging up on the small metal cabinet, held up by a tacky red magnet that Kageyama probably stole from the conference room.

Kageyama is staring at the numbers on his screen dumbfoundedly.

“Okay, you’re supposed to-” Oikawa glances down at Tobio’s hand, which is still on the mouse, and sighs, “Here I’ll show you.”

He covers Tobio’s hand with his own and he feels Kageyama shrink under him. The muscles in Kageyama’s forearm tense up and his back straightens, but otherwise he doesn’t say a thing. Tobio blinks and says he totally gets it now, so Oikawa slinks away and falls back onto his chair where he lets some newfound revelations sink in.

A wall away, Kageyama is googling YouTube tutorials for Microsoft Excel.

\--

 

"Do you regret it?" Kageyama asks one day over breakfast. His bowl of porridge has turned cold, but he continues to shove spoonfuls into his mouth. He watches Oikawa fold the laundry in front of the television.

 

Oikawa grumbles, “I told you I’m sorry about your shirt. On the bright side, pink is a good color on you.” He pulls out a pair of jeans, gives it a once over, and decides that it doesn’t need to be ironed.

“No, I mean your-” and Kageyama points to the knee protector that’s sitting on top of Oikawa’s pile of laundry. Oikawa cocks his head to the side in question, and Kageyama thinks it’s kind of cute, but he continues, “Your knee.”

To this, Oikawa responds with a noncommittal shrug. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then the commercial break ends and Kageyama doesn’t pursue the matter any further.

Kageyama returns to the newspaper in front of him as he continues eating his breakfast, and his eyes are glossing over the words without registering any meaning. He thinks about Kitagawa Daiichi and humors himself with the thought that maybe everything bad that had happened wasn’t his fault.

He remembers the night outside the gym when he asked Iwaizumi if Oikawa could teach him how to serve, and Iwaizumi, faultlessly kind and considerate, had cleared his throat and run a hand through his hair, I don’t think that’s a great idea.

“Tobio-chan, could you get me some tissue,” Oikawa says, sniffing through his tears, and Kageyama wonders how, in a span of five minutes, the drama progressed into a sob story.

\--

Kageyama approaches him at lunch one day with a proposition.

Oikawa listens intently as he sucks on the tips of his chopsticks.

“There’s a volleyball game between our old schools this weekend. I’m going to drive up to Miyagi and I was wondering if you wanted to go?” Kageyama asks. He’s still holding his lunch in his hands and Oikawa wonders if he will sit down and join him.

It takes conscious effort to look at Kageyama differently from the way he’s looked at him for the past ten years. To recognize that with volleyball out of the picture, both of them are equally incompetent at their jobs and hence share some form of solidarity.

He weighs his options.

“Sure.”

\--

He remembers the quiet in the doctor's office. It was both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. His doctor found it difficult to begin every sentence, periodically humming and hawing like a ritual. Beside him, Iwaizumi was fidgeting, outwardly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Oikawa could have asked his mother to come with him, but then again, she wouldn't understand.

And there he was: hands interlocked and resting calmly on his lap, his shoulders slack and relaxed. He was waiting for a verdict he already knew, but hearing it come out of somebody else's mouth made it sound more official.

The bandages around his right knee spoke volumes, and in the doctor's office Oikawa heard it scream.

So when Kageyama asks him if he regrets it — regrets the fact that he can't run too much before his knee aches — he insists that he doesn't. He was careful, but he wasn't careful enough. The thought of working himself to the bone was interesting, exciting, and almost erotic, and he figured that he could just stop whenever he wanted to. That it would be easy.

That was the first and last time Oikawa toyed with temptation.

\--

“Mm, new car smell,” Oikawa says when he ducks into the passenger seat. He runs his fingers over the tan leather.

“This is a secondhand car,” Kageyama states, slightly amused, but he tries not to let it show. He reaches over his shoulder for the seat belt. “But I did use a lot of air freshener.”

Kageyama points at the christmas tree hanging on the rearview mirror, and the bottle of air freshener in the cup holder next to the driver’s seat.

“You cheater,” Oikawa teases. Instantly, he feels at ease, and he can tell that Kageyama is too from the way his hand is slapped away when he’s fiddling with the christmas tree.

“I’m trying to concentrate on not getting both of us killed,” Kageyama frowned.

A song from Kageyama’s adolescent years comes up in the middle of their conversation, and Kageyama interrupts, “Shut up. I want to listen to this.”

Oikawa is happy to oblige, inwardly surprised at seeing a different side of Tobio.

Kageyama doesn’t sing; Oikawa doesn’t expect him to. Instead, he keeps mum and stares straight ahead. They’re still in the city on a bright Saturday morning. Oikawa lets Tobio have his moment and shifts his attention to the tiny leaves that dance on the asphalt, carried by the wind from passing cars.

\--

It is three months later when Oikawa realizes that he likes Tobio and it washes over him like a wave. He sits silently in Tobio’s car, unsure what to do with that information.

Next to him, Tobio removes his keys from the ignition and he drops them between his thighs. He clasps and unclasps his fingers.

“We’re here,” he announces grandly.

They are cloaked in the shadows of buildings. At that moment the moon, caught between the silhouettes of several buildings, cast a gentle glow over the entire area.

Kageyama hears no sign of response, so he turns to look at Oikawa to check if he’s awake. Oikawa can feel the knocking of his heart against his ribcage. Still coming to terms with this startling revelation, he bites his lips together and mulls it over.

Sensing something amiss, Kageyama offers a useless comment to ease the tension, “I hate having to work overtime, honestly. At least I get to do it with you.”

“Come here,” Oikawa demands with a quick flick of his head.

“What? Why?” is Kageyama’s natural response, and Oikawa replies, “So I can hit you.”

Oikawa’s joking, of course. He watches Tobio narrow his eyes in confusion but at the same time he cranes his neck and leans over.

Oikawa pushes the stray hair on Tobio’s forehead behind his ears, noting the way Tobio’s eyes are fixed on his.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

\--

They're in Sendai gym watching a match between Aoba Jousai and Karasuno. It feels like ten years ago. In fact, it is exactly ten years ago. The seats still creak under their weight and the entire area smells like salonpas.

"That's you," Oikawa points at the pimply boy across the stadium whose face was etched in a grimace, as if he were upset at whoever invented puberty.

Kageyama grunts and shoves his hands deeper into his pocket.

They watch the match proceed into the third set. Things haven't really changed in ten years, Oikawa figures when he notices that it's the same coach, the same uniform and the same motto on the school banner. Things aren't that much different when he looks at himself, even.

He's still stubborn. He doesn't know when to quit, and when he realizes it it's too late.

He watches Karasuno take the victory, their players bursting into cheers. There's a dull ache in his chest when he looks at the other side of the court, all painfully familiar and a bad taste in his mouth.

 

 

The run from the exit of Sendai gym to where Kageyama's parked his car is a short one, but Oikawa's shirt is almost drenched and he is jogging on the spot impatiently, his hand around the handle of the car as he screams for Kageyama to hurry up.

When the beep of the car resounds like a miracle in the rain, Oikawa dives into the car immediately and slams the door close with a loud bang. Within seconds the rain has increased in intensity, now pelting the roof of Kageyama's car with angry drops. The water flows down his windshield like a tiny waterfall and it blurs whatever lies ahead of them.

Kageyama hands him some napkins from inside the glove compartment, and Oikawa uses them to dab at his forehead and his arms. There's nothing he can do about the wet shirt though, and it's technically Kageyama's fault that he's wet anyway, so he sinks back into his seat and feels the warmth of leather seep through drenched cotton.

He sees Kageyama about to start the car and he says, "Stop", his hand hovering over the other’s.

"Let's just stay like this for a while."

He tries to prop his legs up onto the dashboard, then realizes that his legs are too long and his original slouching position was infinitely more comfortable. Gingerly, he shifts his feet back onto the floor of the car.

Kageyama is looking at his phone now, his mouth habitually pursed as if he's reading through customer complaints. When Oikawa squints at who he's messaging, and realizes that it's Kageyama’s mother, he lets out a soft, "Oh."

The outside is now a whirl of color bleeding into each other. Until now Kageyama still hasn't turned on the air conditioning, so the stagnant air makes it feel like time has stilled a well.

They sit like this for a while until Oikawa asks, "Have you ever thought about falling?"

Kageyama quirks an eyebrow at the question.

“Falling?” He repeats to weigh its meaning with the depth of his voice.

Kageyama thinks about Day One in many aspects: his first day at volleyball club at Kitagawa Daiichi, his new beginning at Karasuno, and most recently, his unexpected reunion with Oikawa. He’s familiar with falling. Falling from grace, for example. With Oikawa it’s a different kind of falling, the kind where he does it over and over again.

Instead of using words, Kageyama stares back because he doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t know what to make of the future, especially with the many recent changes in his life. He pushes his key into the ignition, slightly fearful but also optimistic.

The hard edges of the Sendai gym blend into soft lines and they swirl on the windshield like little infinities.

**Author's Note:**

> plaire @ tumblr ༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽  
> also thank u eliza for holding my hand


End file.
